Wasted
by Know We're Inseparable
Summary: Formerly KillerxTofu...On Hiatus. I'm horrible at summaries, so I'll be blunt... Lilly has an eating disorder that's slowly tearing her apart. Read how she changes from a carefree skater chick to landing herself in the hospital. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1: She Is Broken

**A/N:** I revised Chapter 1 because I decided to take a different writing approach than I had originally intended, and it called for a longer and more complete first chapter. (The same reasoning is behind the story title change, too.) You can read the next chapter if you want a better explanation and a general plot outline.

Anyway, sit back, enjoy, and please review! :-)

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**Protagonist: **Lilly Truscott

**Summary:** Lilly has been struggling with an eating disorder for years. Nobody knew of her inner turmoil. She had become the master of feigning smiles and deception. Nobody wanted to believe Lilly could possibly harbor such a threatening secret. But now she is balancing on the brink of recovery or death. How did she arrive at this point? And will she survive?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hannah Montana. (I do wish I was clever enough to come up with a wittier disclaimer, though.)

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_**Wasted**_

Chapter 1  
_She Is Broken_

I have a toxic relationship with mirrors. That love/hate relationship. My reverence and devotion is fervent, but I am terrified of their reflection, their reflection of the truth, the truth of my impossible largeness. They magnify my flaws; the flaws I try so desperately to fix.

Those conflicting feelings were what lead me to being surrounded by the shattered fragments of my vanity on a Saturday night. I silently stared at the reflective glass, unaffected by my breakdown. I briefly wondered if I would appear larger in those hundreds, thousands of pieces but immediately dismissed it because I already knew the answer: I would, a hundred times so. I always appeared larger. My quest to become smaller was seemingly useless, but I kept soldiering on, cradling infinite hopes that one day I would finally see a satisfactory reflection. That one day my complexion would be flawless. That one day my blond hair would be lustrous and voluminous. That one day my body would be tiny, beautiful, and perfect. Yes, I kept soldiering on to the day I become a lesser version of myself despite having traveled on that self-destructive path long and far enough to know the satisfaction I craved would never come to fruition.

I tried fighting the overwhelming hopelessness by scrutinizing my badly chapped knuckles. It was then I noticed blood slowly seeping from my hands. I looked down at my feet and saw they were bleeding too. "Strange," I commented. I could no longer feel pain. I could no longer feel happiness. I could no longer feel even contentment. I could no longer feel. Emotions were fleeting and never stayed long enough for me to fully register and recognize them.

My gaze drifted from my wounded body to a hideous, black plastic contraption. My eyes narrowed in disgust, aimed more at myself than the scale. Those flashing, digital numbers seared and imprinted themselves into my cornea.

Ninety-two. Pounds.

Neither the highest nor lowest number I had witnessed, but still wretchedly disappointing nonetheless.

"Forced heartbeat and broken mirrors. Flaws and faults are held so dear. My reflection makes me sick. The pain we feel is nothing new," I softly sang. Then, I slowly released a defeated sigh, closed my eyes, and wondered. I wondered how I became so vain, so selfish, so neurotic. I wondered how I became everything I once vowed never to become. I wondered how I became my own worst enemy. I opened my eyes, shifted my gaze back towards the rubble, and I wondered, "What is more broken? The mirror or...myself?"

Ignoring the dizziness it brought, I suddenly jerked my head towards the bathroom door upon hearing a rhythmic tapping against it. I clenched my fists in annoyance, wondering who could be the intruder. "Lilly, are you all right?"

I inwardly groaned. The offender was the last person I wanted to see at the moment, my best friend Miley. I wondered how much she had witnessed. Had she heard the shattering glass, the senseless screaming? The outpouring of my soul, the confessions of the repulsions I held for myself? Just as the thought came, Miley answered, "I heard something shatter and you screaming, Lilly. Are you okay?"

I remained silent. I suddenly felt gutted, as though the wind had been knocked out of me. Air was quickly vanishing as everything was catching up to me: the deceit, the secret torment, the obsessive exercising, fasting, purging, and counting. How could I possibly respond without admitting my failure, without showing weakness? Control was spinning beyond my grasp, mocking me. I was terrified. I was terrified my voice would betray me, so I remained silent.

"Lilly? Lilly, please answer me." Miley's voice was strained with concern and worry. Her knocking was becoming more forceful.

"Lilly, please open the door. Are you all right? Please, Lilly, answer me." There was a brief pause. The silence was deafening. "Lilly, open the door!" Fear had finally caught, engulfed her as she began pounding her fists against the door.

"Lilly! You're frightening me! Open...the...goddamn...door!" She was hysterical, fighting sobs between words, and clawing away at the grain. I felt unaffected, indifferent to her pleas. Everything about me was robotic. I was programmed to one mode, one that disallowed emotional energy spent on others.

I reached out to a jagged fragment of the mirror. My fingertips tingled. The smoothness, the coldness was comforting. I held it steady atop my wrist before I ultimately decided against it.

"Lilly, please, open the door! I'm begging you! You have to stop this. I'm so worried. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please..." Her voice was beginning to fade, my head was pounding, the bathroom was spinning, and the world was becoming faint. The world was disappearing. I was finally disappearing.

Before I allowed the darkness to swallow me, my last recollection was of a sharp twinge shooting through my chest, the bathroom door splintering, and Miley murmuring, "Oh my god."


	2. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

I overhauled Chapter 1 and had no idea how to update without adding a stupid author's note chapter.

I ended up revising it because as I began outlining additional chapters, I decided to take a different writing approach than I had originally intended, and it called for a longer and more complete first chapter. (The same reasoning is behind the story title change, too.)

I would've just added the changes as a second chapter if it hadn't been so short. It didn't make sense, but it looks like I'm stuck with this ridiculous Author's Note chapter. Just ignore my idiocy, haha. Seriously, this all made much better sense in my head than it currently does.

Anyway, all in all, I probably added at least another ten paragraphs to the first chapter. I'm still not one-hundred percent pleased with it (still seems too "wordy"), but I've already reworked it enough and was anxious to post my revisions. I'm stoked about the future chapters, though, and much happier with the new direction of it. ;-)

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**Plus, a little bit of a plot outline for everyone:**

Beginning in either the next or third chapter, the story will change gears and be told through Lilly's journal. The first couple chapters will act as a kind of epilogue. I decided on using the "journal format" because it'll be easier to convey the relationship Lilly has with her eating disorder.

I'll probably post the next chapter at the end of this week. Friday, perhaps.

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I understand that my idea probably isn't entirely original, seeing as Lilly has an eating disorder. However, I do wish to make it as realistic as possible because, honestly, sometimes I get frustrated with the majority of eating-disordered based stories on here. They either sugarcoat the realities or use general, shallow knowledge. There's so much more to having an ED than idolizing models; people aren't suddenly cured because the love of their life swoops in to save the day; and it's not a quick transformation from normal kid to ED to recovery. It literally is a slow suicide. There're several psychological layers that tend to be overlooked, in my humble opinion. My hope is my story will reflect some truth and accuracy.

In order to accomplish that, I would appreciate input on what you think and just how accurate you believe I am, so please R&R! :-)


	3. Chapter 2: Lilly, You're Barely Alive

**A/N: **Wow, this update was long overdue. Thank you for the great reviews. I'm so, so sorry about the extended wait, but I do have a somewhat decent reason...

My best friend and I decided to take a spontaneous trip to Chicago (and when I say spontaneous, I mean we randomly talked about how Chicago is an awesome city, jokingly looked up Amtrak ticket prices at 1:00 a.m. on Saturday, and left for the city a mere five hours later), and therefore, have been without an internet connection for the past six days. We both worked over sixty hours the previous week and were scheduled to have the next/this week off, so we gave ourselves a much needed vacation. The trip was "Wicked" awesome. And, to make this week even more excellent, I'm attending the Jonas Brothers concert at Pine Knob. (So stoked. Front and center, baby! My friend's dad has awesome connections, hence the awesome seats.) Ahh! Life is good. And fortunately, the long train ride to and from Chicago gave me ample opportunity to work and rework the second chapter. I'm kind of indifferent on how much I like it. I think it started out well but became a tad weak at the end, but it helps lead into the plot a little bit. I'm just not sure.

Okay, enough of this ridiculously long author's note that has less to deal with the story but more of me bragging about my righteous Chicago trip and awesome JB tix. :-)

Please, R&R!

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hannah Montana. (I do wish I was clever enough to come up with a wittier disclaimer, though.)

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_**Wasted**_

Chapter 2  
_Lilly, You're Barely Alive_

Miley fidgeted relentlessly in the hospital's waiting room. She tried distracting herself by reading an old, stained magazine from the rack, but her thoughts always returned to Lilly. The scene from the previous hour constantly haunted Miley's thoughts: Lilly unconscious, surrounded by a shattered mirror and covered in blood. Miley gave an involuntary shudder and felt tears running down her face. Just as she felt herself breaking down, she was enveloped into a strong, consoling hug. She was uncertain who had provided the comfort she so desperately needed at that moment but latched onto it nonetheless.

The stranger's body suddenly shifted as he craned his head near Miley's ear and whispered, "It'll be okay, Miley. Shh. Just let it out. It'll all be okay."

Miley sobbed even more deeply into his chest because now she knew the person comforting her was not a stranger but Oliver Oken, her and Lilly's best friend. Oliver continued hugging Miley and rubbing her back as she attempted to gain control over her hysterics. When Miley finally regained her composure, she detangled herself from Oliver's arms and sank back into the uncomfortable, upholstered chair. His shirt was now soaked in her tears, but that was the last concern either of them had on their minds. An uncomfortable silence--filled with months of speculation, guilt and unanswered questions--hung in the air between the two friends.

"Lilly will be fine, Miles," Oliver finally said over the silence.

"You, you weren't the one to find her. It was awful. Just...awful," Miley hoarsely replied. She bit her lip to keep from shedding even more tears. "I cannot escape that image. I cannot forget it. Glass and blood were everywhere. She was pale and cold. She looked so small, so fragile. I was so scared. I thought, I thought she was d-d-dead. I feared she was dead."

"But thank goodness you did find her, Miles. She'll get through this because of that." Oliver paused then asked, "Have you heard anything new since you phoned me?"

After the ambulance had arrived at Lilly's house and the paramedics refused to let Miley ride along to the hospital, she had called Lilly's mother, her father, and Oliver to inform them on the situation. Miley had been disturbingly calm the entire time. She went through the motions of what needed to be done and never allowed herself to become overwhelmed with emotion. Oliver was announcing a beach volleyball tournament when he received the first phone call from Miley and was on his way to the hospital when he received the second phone call.

Miley shook her head. "No, not really. Her mother came and told me Lilly's condition hasn't changed much. She's still in unconscious but stable. The doctors think Lilly had a heart attack and now her body seems to be just shutting down on her."

"What?!" Oliver exclaimed, "A heart attack? She's only fifteen, a teenager! She couldn't have had a heart attack."

Miley shot an indignant look at Oliver and accusingly said, "You know very well what could've caused it. We've both known for months. We could've prevented this. I could've prevented this. I had so many opportunities but always ignored them. All the signs, the cries for help were there but I ignored them." Miley's throat was tightening and tears were threatening to spill again but she continued. "I refused to believe it was actually this serious. I'm to blame. I had those chances to save her from this. It's my fault, Oliver. It's my entire fucking fault," Miley admitted as she slammed her fists onto the coffee table in front of them.

Oliver quickly reached out one hand to catch Miley's fists and the other grab her chin as he forced her to look into his eyes. "Don't you dare blame yourself. None of this is anyone's fault. It's not your fault, my fault, or Lilly's fault. I feel guilty too, Miley. I feel like I should've done something sooner. We can't focus on the past, though. We have to move forward, Miles. We have to do what we can to help her now and not what we could've done days, weeks, or months ago. Okay?"

Miley nodded but never for a moment believed a word leaving Oliver's mouth. She secretly knew she was the cause for Lilly's eating disorder. She had spent the majority of her time in the waiting room tracing the signs back to the beginning and discovered that Lilly began journeying down the path of self-destruction when Miley revealed her Hannah Montana secret to her. Miley knew other circumstances may have attributed to it too, like Lilly's parents impending divorce, but bringing Lilly to glamorous celebrity events allowed her eating disorder to fester and bloom.

Miley shook her head in disgust.

"What?" Oliver questioned.

"I pray it's not too late to save her," Miley replied. "I pray it's not too late."

--

The evening sunlight slowly crawled through the windows, across the floor, and shone down upon a young, brunette girl. Miley threw back the fleece blanket and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She had taken up the habit of spending her spare time in Lilly's bedroom, thinking about the numerous sleepovers spent there, combing through the scrapbooks and photo albums they had created together, and simply sitting, staring, being surrounded by everything that defined Lilly. It had been a week since the incident. Lilly's condition had not changed, and Miley missed her best friend desperately.

Miley allowed herself to fully drift back to consciousness before reaching over the edge of the bed and picking up a stack of makeshift scrapbook and photo albums she had found on Lilly's bookshelf. The stack had been her and Lilly's latest project, making a scrapbook of their summer vacation as they experienced it. Miley chuckled to herself has she shifted through the pictures, coming across one of Oliver sunburned from head to toe except for a heart-shaped smiley face on his chest. Miley lost herself in the memory, remembering that after Oliver had passed out on the beach from surfing one afternoon, her and Lilly took some sunscreen and rubbed in their masterful design. Oliver woke up upset but soon conceded that the prank was brilliant and found the humor in it.

Miley flipped to the next picture and the sight of it broke her heart. It was of Lilly sitting on a giant rock, knees tucked under her chin, looking out to sea. She looked too tiny and delicate. Lilly wore baggy and pallid clothing, making her look even more pale and deathly than she already was. However, it was not Lilly's sickly appearance that caused Miley's heartbreak. It was Lilly's eyes. Beneath those pools of blue was a look of confusion, despair, and hopelessness. Miley could hardly believe she had never noticed it before and guilt instantly wrapped itself around her thoughts again. She had been having such a difficult time in handling the situation. Difficulty in handling her guilt, and difficulty in understanding why Lilly would do this to herself. Despite being in the spotlight and watching other celebrities turn to self-destructive behavior firsthand as Hannah Montana, Miley had learned long ago not to be influenced by them, ignore unwarranted criticism on her appearance, and take everything with a grain of salt. Yes, she had moments of insecurity and dissatisfaction, but could never imagine using such extreme measures; measures in which death is a frighteningly real possibility.

Not being able to handle looking at anymore pictures, Miley tossed them aside and looked down at the notebook that had lain underneath the pictures. She had never seen it before. The plain, red cover gave no indication on what she would find inside, and Miley quickly scooped up and opened it.

_04/20/07_

_It would be pointless to post my caloric intake for the day. It was miserable and far exceeded anything acceptable..._

Miley caught her breath realizing that she was reading Lilly's journal. A furious battle of conflicting thoughts proceeded to bombard Miley's mind.

"Lilly deserves her privacy."  
"She has repeatedly lied to and deceived me; she no longer deserves either privacy or my trust."  
"Do I honestly want to read this? What if she, too, blames me for everything?"  
"Oh, don't be so self-centered, Miley. Like all her thoughts and actions are based on you."  
"No, she wrote in this believing only her eyes would ever read it..."

Indeed, Lilly thought only her eyes would ever read that scarlet notebook. She wrote nothing but honest words and feelings believing her secrecy, her privacy would remain intact.

"Perhaps it would make it easier to understand. Perhaps it'll help me understand. Perhaps I'll be better able to help her."

Miley eventually decided against reading Lilly's journal, but instead of returning it to its proper place on the bookshelf, she tucked it into her backpack and left the Truscott house with her mind still racing towards a final resolution.


	4. Chapter 3: Play Crack the Code

**A/N:** Firstly, thank you for the reviews last chapter. :-) I'm sorry for yet another long overdue update. I've been feeling uninspired and downright miserable lately. I missed the Jonas Brothers concert on July 5th, because I ended up in the ER for dehydration--definitely not the evening I'd envisioned. But the news my family heard on Saturday makes that seem so insignificant and unimportant.

Anyway, I wrote the majority of this chapter before I went to Warped this morning, and I'm leaving for _The Dark Knight _in a few minutes, so it's probably rushed and error-ridden. Sorry if it's lacking...passion? And words. Or anything worth reading. It might've turned out totally suckish. I'm never satisfied with anything I write, though. I'm not certain at this point, but I needed to update. I've been neglecting it for too long. Besides, I've finally arrived at the point in the story where the plot begins to pick up pace and the focus shifts from Miley to Lilly. If I even keep up with writing it. I'm not sure at this point. I'll have to wait and see how life's played out before me. Usually I write when I'm upset, but...I'm not sure if writing about such a depressing, triggering topic will be good for me at this point. However, I do have to admit that a day filled with badly sunburned feet, battle wounds, sweaty kids, car ride sing-a-longs, righteous best friends, and loud music definitely lifted my spirits a bit and motivated me to finish this chapter tonight.

Please, R&R! :-)

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**Disclaimer:** Do I even need this? Everyone knows I do not own Hannah Montana. Or the lyrics in the journal entry. (Btw, it's "Weeping Willow" by The Hush Sound.)

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_**Wasted**_

Chapter 3  
_Play Crack the Code_

It seemingly taunted her. The setting sun's rays were bouncing off its scarlet cover while it lied so innocently on her desk. Miley sighed to herself and tried focusing all of her attention on the task at hand: cleaning her already perfectly spotless bedroom.

Ever since Lilly had been admitted to the hospital, Miley had taken to obsessively cleaning her bedroom whenever she was not hanging out with Oliver, visiting Lilly, or masquerading as Hannah Montana. It was her best method of distraction from all her anxieties over whether or not Lilly would ever completely recover and how Oliver was handling the situation.

Lilly had finally regained consciousness and couple of days ago; however, she remained in the hospital for ongoing medical and psychological evaluations and was being fed intravenously. During Miley's most recent visit, she was beset by disbelief when Lilly's mother told her and Oliver of Lilly's continued rejection of food. Lilly had weakened her body and her mind by the years of abuse she had inflicted upon herself and now had a laundry list of medical problems: anemia, arrhythmia, vitamin deficiencies, possible early onset osteoporosis, etc. Yet, despite the grim prospects staring directly at her, Lilly was still refusing the very nourishment she needed to survive. Miley hated seeing her best friend so battled, bruised, and broken, but another part of Miley hated Lilly for allowing this to happen to herself, for allowing herself to deteriorate in the name of selfish vanity.

Sitting upon her neatly made bed, Miley thought back to the last conversation Oliver, Lilly, and her had at the hospital.

"It's a slow suicide, Lills." Oliver reached over for Lilly's hand and gripped it tightly. "Every time you don't eat, you're an inch closer to death. And you're hurting not just yourself, but everyone that loves you," Oliver said. He sounded poised and strong, but Miley knew he was simply putting up a front for Lilly. The night before he called Miley in a panic, wondering if he could face Lilly, frightened he would say something wrong because of his 'boy brain'. Miley spent nearly an hour consoling him, sharing her own fears, and trying to convince him ultimately everything would end happily.

"I know," Lilly said softly. "It's just...you make it sound so easy. Much easier than it could ever be. You just don't understand."

They had been talking in circles for nearly an hour with Miley reciting supportive comments, Oliver trying to get through to her, and Lilly constantly stating that she knew and understood. Miley had been tittering on the edge of explosive impatience for the past couple of minutes, frustrated with her best friend's inability to realize just how serious the situation was that she finally snapped after Lilly's last remark.

"Of course we don't understand, Lilly! We've been trying to be supportive in all of this, trying to understand, but you refuse to enlighten us!" Miley felt horrible for sounding so harsh, but it seemed like Lilly was barely registering anything Miley, Oliver, or even the doctors had informed Lilly of from before. "You keep saying over and over and over that you know how horrible everything is, that you know you're flirting with death right now, and that you know the only way to get through this is to try and get better, but you're not even trying. If you know all this, why don't you fucking try?"

Lilly bit her lower lip and looked down at her fumbling hands. "You're not being fair. I've known all of this for awhile now. I've been aware of my eating disorder for a long time. You make it all sound so simple. 'Eat and you'll get better.' Even if I gain weight, I'll still be a fat, neurotic failure. I realize and understand more than obviously you do. You just don't get it," Lilly countered.

"You're right. I don't get it. How hard is it just to eat?! To take care of yourself. I don't get how you got the idea in your head that you were ever fat. I get slammed in the tabloids all the time for being either too skinny or too fat, but at least I'm strong enough not to let it affect me." As soon as Miley said the last statement, she immediately regretted it.

Lilly looked up at Miley with anguish, confusion, and fury etched across her face. She was completely shocked Miley could even think, yet alone, say something so callous. "What do you even mean by that?" Lilly hissed. "This has nothing to do with food. You couldn't possibly get it unless you've lived with it." Lilly stopped for a brief second before marching on, her voice dripping with vicious sarcasm, "And yes, Miley, you're so much stronger than me, and you never let the tabloids get to you. Is that why you went on a diet after one headline read 'Hannah FATana'? How self-centered and self-righteous can you get, Miley? I'm sure it's hard for you to believe, but this isn't about you. It was never about you. It's about me."

"Lilly, I-I-I...never meant it like that," Miley stuttered.

"Just...please, leave."

"I never..."

"Leave, Miley. I can't talk or even see you right now. Do me a favor and leave."

Oliver stood up from the chair situated beside the hospital bed and said, "C'mon, Miles. I'll take you home."

Miley reluctantly nodded and began following Oliver. Before she rounded the hospital room's door, she looked back at Lilly. The chaotic mess of emotions displayed across her best friend's features finally helped a tiny part of Miley realize that what Lilly was struggling with was much deeper than Miley, or even Lilly, could comprehend right now.

Miley snapped out of the memory and wiped away the tears forming in her eyes. She glanced back at the journal, her curiosity biting. The battle over whether she should read it continued to rage on in her mind. She was constantly weighing the pros and cons, trying to conceive even more justifiable reasons that fed her secret desire to read it.

"I just want to know why. I just want to understand. If I read it, maybe not only will I understand, but I'll be better able to help her through this," Miley concluded.

She quickly paced over to her desk, picked up the journal, settled down on her bed again, opened it to the first entry, and began to read.

_04/20/07_

_It would be pointless to post my caloric intake for the day. It was disappointing and far exceeded anything acceptable: approximately nine hundred, total. The sandwich was tasteless, the hamburger was tasteless. Meals are always tasteless and offer nothing of value, as consumption ever does. Only starvation offers satisfaction. I tried exercising the excess off, except my workout was of poor excuse. I swear, my inability to accomplish anything is frustrating, the feeling of failure seemingly eternal, and I am exhausted to where even the slightest movement causes pain._

_My family is adopting an unsettling, differing attitude. The yelling and screaming and dramatics are surprisingly missed; probably because their maddening behavior is more predictable. They claim at being supportive of me and the forced "recovery" of my "depression", except they are simply in the motions of fixing something never broken._

_Maybe I should be thankful my parents have finally stopped arguing with one another and found something to be united under. Too bad my so-called problems are what unified them. Perhaps this journaling will provide genuine support?_

_"You've made it through the storm this far.  
__You can do this, dear, it won't be hard.  
__...There will be tomorrow."_

Depression? Recovery? Lilly? Frantic thoughts collided in Miley's mind. She was desperately trying to search for a reminder, a moment, anything that included Lilly telling her about the depression written down so blatantly before her. Nothing came. Nothing.

Miley had always known, despite the happy-go-lucky and carefree appearance, Lilly was a tad pessimistic and dealt with beastly demons, but she was still clueless and taken aback to the fact that her best friend had ever suffered from depression that required help.

"Well, it obviously never worked," Miley thought aloud. Suddenly, another thought struck her. "All those skateboarding sessions she attended last year until the end of summer... It must've been a cover for her therapy. How could've Lilly possibly kept this from me, though?"

Miley became even more confused and furious. Confused and furious over how she missed all the signs. Confused and furious over how Lilly never confided such a critical aspect with her.

Once again, the debate about whether or not she should continue reading ignited and inflamed her thoughts. Her curiosity had considerably grown, and she desperately wanted to find comfort, understanding, and an eased conscience in those pages. She wanted to be able to crack the code in understanding Lilly. However, it had already opened a monstrous can of worms. A few seconds ticked by before she made her final decision.

Miley lowered her head and continued to read, hoping to find something, anything.


	5. Chapter 4: The Art of Deception

**A/N: **Apparently my motivation has returned. And I'm rather proud I pumped out another chapter so soon. Give me the key to the city and a freaking parade! Actually, I'd prefer reviews! :-)

Also, the point of view will shift from first person (via Lilly's journal entries) to third person. It was honestly the only way I could figure on conveying a person's mindset while living with an eating disorder and move along the plot simultaneously. I hope it's not too confusing. This chapter is sorta short, but the next one is much, much longer. Approximately thrice as long as this chapter. I promise. ;-) And I'll probably post it this Friday or Saturday. Enjoy!

Plus, I just want to say, I'm completely obsessed with the song "Bigger Than Love" by My Favorite Highway. Seriously, download it...NOW! You won't regret it. :-)

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**Disclaimer:** Everyone knows I own nothing.

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**Wasted**

Chapter 4  
_The Art of Deception_

_Miley lowered her head and continued to read, hoping to find something, anything... _And as her eyes consumed Lilly's candid words, she found herself being transported into her best friend's tormented, eating disordered mind.

_04/22/07_

_I am perpetually restless, constantly in motion. Being idle, inanimate accomplishes nothing. It is completely useless. Sleeping seems rather wasteful and arbitrary, pointless even. I am constantly calculating. Spending the nighttime calculating my intake, feelings, thoughts, philosophies, and curious habits, and eventually organizing everything into nonsensical writing. Sometimes my pencil becomes possessed, producing words, stringing sentences, forming paragraphs, without any intellectual, conscious input from myself._

_I am a sham._

_These insanity driven statements are not me. I am not distraught and worrisome. I am indestructible. Undetectable to bullets. I am bulletproof. And I am a hypocrite, a liar. I am convincing myself of contemplations that reflect no truths. I am creating a false identity I am gradually beginning to believe._

_I am a pathetic display of antidepressants and erratic behavior for my family. Looked upon as a confused, lonesome soul where everyone shakes their heads but smile a moment later because I convince everyone everything is wonderful. Strangers are offering empathetic, condoling stares while they are furtively gossiping about my family. "Oh, there is the Truscotts' daughter. Poor darling is dealing with her parents pending divorce. The children are always the most harmed in those situations. I heard her chauvinistic father cheated on her whorish mother..." It would be less harmful if people minded their own business and stopped prodding, asking questions, and creating rumors to satisfy their own imaginations._

_I crave starvation. I desire normalcy. Could they possibly coexist? April has a stranglehold on my rationale. I blame the springtime sense of renewal and happiness. It always makes me uneasy._

_CW: 115 lbs.  
__BMI: 20.4_

Lilly looked up from her journal and released a disgruntled groan. "Why does everything I write sound so contrived," she said aloud. "It's imperfect--like me," her thoughts finished.

After closing her journal--admitting defeat on ever fixing the entry--and removing herself from the desk, she locked herself in the adjoining bathroom and began scrutinizing her reflection. She tugged at her hair. It appeared dull and lifeless. She analyzed her fingernails. They were chewed down to the bone from nervousness over weight and skateboarding competitions. She shifted her examination to her face. It seemed clear and unblemished. "Thank goodness for something," she muttered to herself.

Finally, her inspection arrived at her least favorite part. She held her breath as she carefully lifted her teal t-shirt and tossed it on the floor, following it by taking off her gray sweatpants and kicking them aside. While standing with her arms at her sides with nothing on but a sports bra and underwear, staring straight into the bathroom mirror, seconds ticked by without a murmur or single movement from the petite, blond teenager. Suddenly she lifted her right hand and traced her fingers along her jutting collarbones, down her chest, and across her stomach. She stopped at her hips and pinched a piece of seemingly invisible fat. "I've gained weight. The love handles are still there." She turned to her side, stood on her tiptoes, and looked down at her behind. "It's still there." She ran both hands over her seemingly flat stomach. "My stomach's bulging. I need to do more crunches and sit-ups. About twenty more a day should do it. My thighs are just disgusting. There has to be a workout that'll slim them down. I need to run and skateboard more often, too. I can't be burning enough calories if I still look this large. My arms jiggle too much, too." She rattled off the list of problems as though she were taking mental notes.

To her, flaws and faults were obvious and apparent on her body. Not once during her assessment had she noticed her ribcage was beginning to protrude from her skin or her hipbones were on prominent display. To her, her slender frame only showcased fat and only fat. She was blinded by her own illusions. She had carefully crafted deception into an art form.

"I need to lose more weight." Her daily ritual had finally concluded after that last statement. With one last disgusted look at her reflection, she released herself from the holding cell, her bathroom. She caught a glimpse at the late time touting from her alarm clock and peeked outside her bedroom window to see the moon already shining from the midnight sky. It was late and she needed to rest before school the next morning.

She pulled back her covers and crawled into bed. Before allowing sleep to overcome her, she sighed and murmured, "Another day, another failure. You shouldn't expect so much, Lilly."


	6. Chapter 5: Miss Perfection

**A/N:**Here's Chapter 5, later than promised. My computer crashed last week, but my techie-computer-genius older brother was able to get it running again. (He told me the 12,000 songs I had is what caused it. They took up too much space. Eek!) However, I still lost everything. And I do mean everything. I had Chapter 5 finished before it crashed, and I'm super peeved I lost it and had to start from scratch. I was actually very happy with how it turned out, and tried my best to remember most of it but obviously I didn't. It was originally longer. I know there was another journal entry detailing Lilly's relationship with her parents and their divorce and junk, but I had writer's block when I went to rewrite it and ended up with something...not quite right. Ugh! Idk. Life just doesn't want to agree with me right now.

Oh, geez. I need to leave for work.

As always, please R&R! I really do appreciate it. :-)

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**Disclaimer:** Eh, I own nothing.

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**Wasted**

Chapter 5  
_Miss Perfection_

_04/25/07_

This morning was designed around starting over, designed for establishing a different routine filled with meticulously scheduled workouts, a vacant stomach, and empty calories; however, as with everything, my routine went wayward, pushed aside, and forgotten.

I know. I realize I am anxious and obsessive whenever it comes to dieting and exercising, and the day is usually unsuccessful and wasted if everything does not go according to plan. Every calorie, action, movement is premeditated. There is an endless list of routines that must be performed for the day to even be considered successful. First, I very carefully begin brushing my teeth at twenty to midnight. Flossing follows the brushing and whitening follows flossing and brushing follows whitening and gargling salt water concludes this pathetic practice. And for some strange reason, I believe it is the single way my mouth is thoroughly cleansed. I do not care that it is a harmful and bruising tactic that causes my tongue to burn and lips to swell. (Though, oftentimes I consider it an advantage because it makes eating difficult and painful.) Anyway, by midnight my mouth is sanitized and cleared of any unknowing food particles and calories, which is apparently very important in starting another day. I need to know the exact amount of calories I ingest. This is the only way to be absolutely certain. Next, I do forty-five minutes worth of stretching and toning exercises. Then, I am finally ready for bed with the pleasing feeling of any empty stomach, refreshed mouth, and the knowledge of having already burned calories.

Yesterday night was no exception to my neurotic behavior. Everything was done perfectly, but I was not perfect. I caved. I weakened my resolve.

I ate. A hamburger. Three hundred calories. That number seems both small and large. However, it does not matter... I ate.

So now, my day is ruined.

Another giant 'F'.

Another failure.

Oh, I will still attempt to starve, casually sip my diet Coke, and chew gum or have an occasional peppermint to ward off any hunger pains, and eventually exercise into exhaustion later today, but even if the only meal I eat all day was in that one, powerless moment, it is still considered a pointless, failure of a day.

Just call me fat and write me off.

_04/28/07_

Despite maintaining my warped mindset, normalcy is beginning to become a daily routine yet I am feeling so awkwardly unbalanced. I feel unsymmetrical and unporportionate, like Alice walking through the chaotic Wonderland. Growing and shrinking is sudden, graceless intervals leaves me vulnerable, an absolutely staggering feeling. I would rather become numb and embrace abstract thinking than recognize I am an emotional wrecking crew with no business of living. Maybe I am confusing normalcy with monotony. I deserve a some sort-of doctorate for feigning happiness around my family and deceiving even myself. Outwardly pretending everything is fine; inwardly frustrated with the inability to continue shedding pounds in any sort of consistency.

I am growing increasingly impatient. It is becoming challenging to perform even the simplest, mindless of functions. Mornings are dreaded because glancing at my fattening, repulsive frame is unavoidable. Sometimes awakening is too fucking difficult. Changing from pajamas to showering to resorting to oversized sweaters is a chronic reminder of my hideousness I yearn could be avoided all together. Except, whenever an opportunity presents itself for self-examination, I scrutinize my imperfections until I am thoroughly convinced skinniness is an unattainable ambition and my starvation is in vain.

Yesterday afternoon, Miley and I went shopping as 'Hannah' and 'Lola'. I swear, it is sometimes impossible shopping with her...well, technically her alter-ego. (Man, it can get confusing.) She looks fantastic in everything, and she occasionally treats the salesperson in such a demeaning, diva-ish fashion. "This is teal, not turquoise. And I asked for smalls, not mediums. Now go fetch me what I asked for!" Excuse me, the salesperson made a simple mistake and is not a dog.

She also constantly offers unasked advice. Sometimes I appreciate her input, but sometimes she needs to learn to shut up. Her comments can be insensitive. "Oh! Lilly, that outfit makes you look huge! Haha." Sorry, Miley. Not everyone can be so slender so effortlessly.

She did followed it with, "I'm just kidding, Lills. If anything, you've lost a lot of weight recently." I think she was lying, though.

I returned to the changing room, replaying her comments over and over, and while standing there, fixated on my enormousness and glaring deficiencies, I had a breakdown. My breakdown wasn't the predictable type. No hysterical outbursts, no helpless crumpling on the carpet, no swollen eyes or tear-stained cheekbones. There I was wearing voluminous size-2 jeans with my outward expression seemingly composed. However, I found no satisfaction in asking the salesperson for zeros. Despite everything indicating those jeans and others the salesperson were fetching were twos or zeros, I still looked impossibly massive.

Paranoia overruled all rational judgments and I began thinking there was a conspiracy and those numbers were untrustworthy. Panic followed paranoia. For years my faithfulness has resided within numbers but suddenly that system was meaningless. My mind started spinning and everything rational, irrational and logical, illogical blended together and created on perplexing, anarchic mass. Had I just challenged something I have religiously relied on? Has my viewpoint, my dependence been seriously distorted throughout the years?

"May I offer you anymore assistance?" Thankfully a voice interrupts my rambling mania.

"No, no thank you."

I hurriedly undressed and redressed, leaving the boutique and escaping the uneasy bombardment of my own thoughts. Miley noticed my uneasiness and offered a worried expression, but I brushed off her concern and lamely said, "I'm just lightheaded. Let's get something to drink." Zero calories, of course.

Shopping is always hopeless.

I am hopeless.

_04/30/08_

The prodigal daughter has returned home and probably to the disappointment of my parents. My parents operate the House of Oppression. Double standards, sarcastic comments, arguments, and emotional abuse are prominent. I always feel unwelcome and self-destruction always quickly follows--a continuous, vicious succession.

Thankfully Miley and I had a fantastic weekend together. I shadowed her during all her Hannah Montana events in NYC, which provided an excellent distraction from my family. I finally confided in her, completely, explaining all the anxiety and sadness and indifference I've been experiencing with my parents always berating me, Dad cheating on Mom, and their impending divorce. I think our conversations have only reinforced the idea that she genuinely is the sincerest, most understanding person I have ever known. However, I cannot help but feel extremely guilty for burdening her with my problems. I am frightened she will eventually become sick of it or it will become too much for her and she will realize she is better off without me as a friend.

Sometimes I think Oliver is beginning to question being friends with me nowadays. Whenever I try talking to him, he interrupts and starts cracking jokes. He has always dealt with confrontation that way, but I feel like he is using that tactic in avoidance of talking to me. We used to talk about anything and everything, traded secrets, new one another inside and out. Now our friendship seems so shallow, spent mostly trading jokes instead of secrets and surfing together. I miss him.

Anyway, tomorrow is the beginning of an entirely new weight-loss and exercise regime. June 1st is highlighted on my calendar. Ninety-nine. Double digits are the objective. I will reach it.

_05/01/08_

What brought me to this point? How did I ever arrive here? How did I ever become...this.

The beginning seems innocent enough. Eating healthily, cutting out carbonated beverages and sweets, stocking up on protein, and carbo-loading before skateboarding and surfing competitions because watching my diet would supposedly help my endurance and give me a much needed, extra energy boost. And it worked wonderfully. And it was all downhill from there. It led to my downfall.

There was nothing wrong with eating healthily, was there? Even if I was a tad obsessive about it. Even if I purged unhealthy food occassionally. There was nothing wrong with purging it because it was "unhealthy" food, right? Right?

I discovered there is a name for it.

"Orthorexia Nervosa is known as the health food disorder. This is due to the Orthorexic's preoccupation with health food. Orthorexia causes the sufferer to become more and more obsessed with the types of foods they are consuming, resulting in more and more constriction placed on their eating habits."

Who would have thought?

Perhaps it was a culmination of things, a buildup of a chaotic, life-altering hurricane, a domino-like succession of disasters, which brought me here. Perhaps I was predisposed for this fate. Perhaps it was a combination of both. I've always had a slight obsessive compulsive neurosis despite the common perception others have of me, which is a carefree tomboy. I am a carefree tomboy, but...I am also competitive beyond belief. I yearn for my parents' acceptance. I have such a strong desire for perfection that it is sometimes debilitating. And, inadvertently, when I started dieting, I discovered the perfect channel for all my eccentricities to converge.

It seemed easy.

It seemed simple.

It seemed foolproof.

I found the control life was lacking in controlling my food intake.

This was hardly the destination I was expecting when first embarking on this journey, though. What even were my expectations? Certainly not the starving. Certainly not the purging. Certainly not the constant counting, measuring, and calculating. Certainly not the frightening obsession over food. Certainly not the unceasing dissatisfaction with my body and lack of progression.

I was so foolish.

However, I continue holding out for everything that persuaded me on this path in the first place. Thinness. Beauty. Perfection. Happiness. And despite all the common sense and logic I possess, I small part of me still believes it is still possible, it is still attainable.

_CW: 112 lbs.  
BMI: 19.8_

Lilly stared at the scribbled paged, unsatisfied with its outcome. "Since when have I ever been satisfied? Wasn't that the point of the whole entry? The fact I continue to self-destruct because of that allusive feeling of satisfaction? God, I am not all poignant," she self-deprecatingly thought. She returned her journal to its proper spot, underneath a pile of wigs below her bed, and stretched out across her bed.

She was uncertain if she felt helpless or indolent at that moment. She thought about the past year. How everything seemed to crash down around her and was left trapped in the middle of the wreckage.

Her declining grades, always B's, never A's.

Her declining skateboarding skills, always second, never first.

Her parents divorce. Her parents continually fighting.

Her parents bringing her into the middle of their fights.

Her mother's constant criticisms on Lilly's intelligence, or seemingly lack thereof.

Her father's constant criticisms on her appearance.

Her anxieties over photographs in the tabloids of Lola Luftnagle and Hannah Montana together; Lola always looked fat compared to Hannah.

Her closeted skeletons that she kept repressing.

Her fat.

Her largeness.

Her losing battle with weight loss despite her efforts.

It was all too overwhelming for her. She could not turn off her thoughts. Problem after problem rushing to the forefront of her mind. She felt tears forming and spilling from her eyes. And she was too weak to wipe them away, too exhausted from living her life.


	7. On Hiatus

**On Hiatus**

Yes, this is yet another author's note chapter. And before I write anything else, thank you for all the reviews, and I'm sorry if I haven't replied to any of them yet.

_Wasted_ is going on hiatus until I've got a better grip on my life. I'm so, so sorry. I tried working on another chapter, but it was too difficult and felt very triggering.

For those of you whom haven't made the assumption yet...yes, I do have/had an eating disorder. The worst has hopefully passed now, but I've still got to live with this warped mindset everyday. It's one of the reasons I started writing an ED-centered fic--to help people better understand someone who suffers from the disorder. It's so much bigger than the person just wanting to be skinny. So much bigger. I've taken a lot of crap from former friends and people, and their lack of knowledge on it just breaks my heart.

I just want to make it perfectly clear that I was fine when I started writing it. I'd finally arrived at a good place in my life and felt up to the challenge. However, a couple of weeks ago my family heard some devastating news: my father has cancer. The tumor's malignant, so he's expected to make a full recovery after he's finished with treatment. But this was an especially hard blow on my siblings and me because our mom lost her battle against cancer in 2004. Our mom was an amazing human being and no words could ever do her justice. We loved her so much, and it's still really difficult to talk about it. We've been thru this once and have witnessed the worst possible outcome, so it's very shocking and upsetting to hear we've got to go thru this all over again. It doesn't seem fair, it isn't fair, but that's life for you.

I guess in some aspects, her death triggered my ED. Life was beyond my control at that point, and I had to find some way to control it. And when I heard the news about my dad, I began falling into old habits. I've been lucky enough to have a family that sacrificed so much to help me, and I'll always be thankful. I still struggle with it everyday, and I'm not cured. But I don't want to go down that road again, and my father, especially during this time in his life, doesn't need to be worrying about me and my eating habits. I want him to be able to focus entirely on beating this.

I've got every intention on finishing it once my life steadies itself. I don't know when that'll happen, but when it does, I'll post a new chapter. And I'm not planning on disappearing from this site. I still want to write fics. Actually, I tend to write when I'm stressed or upset. It's therapeutic for me. But it probably won't be as dark as _Wasted_. (Btw, does anyone have a good plot idea I could use? I'm currently a tad stuck. :-P)

I seriously debated about posting an explanation at all, but I thought that perhaps putting it all out there might be cathartic. I'm not looking for sympathy or condolences. All that I ask, if you want, is to pray for my father and our family during this time.

Also, I just want to say again thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone that reviewed, alerted, favorited, and whatever else, and I hope you'll still read it even after I get back to writing it.

Take care!


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